


After the Siren

by mautadite



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:05:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3438071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mautadite/pseuds/mautadite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max throws herself backwards onto the bed as if doing a freefall over a cliff or something. Anne chews at her lip and scuffs the ground with her toe, but she’s still the idiot who takes the leap right after her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Siren

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Femslash Kink Meme. Prompt: _'topping from the bottom'_. There were two ways to take this prompt; hope you like this one! There's honestly no plot to speak of in this. Imagine it takes place some time after the fallout from 2.05 (whatever that will be). 
> 
> Warning for a bit of misogyny, internalised and otherwise.

The moon is out and the room is bright.

“Let me show you, chérie,” Max says.

“Ain’t gotta show me nothin’,” Anne protests under her breath, but Max is already giggling, already clasping her hands and tugging her forward. She throws herself backwards onto the bed as if doing a freefall over a cliff or something, and Anne chews at her lip and scuffs the ground with her toe, but she’s still the idiot who takes the leap right after her. As if her skin, now knowing the heat and silk of Max’s, ain’t gonna tolerate being apart from her any longer than it needs to be. 

If Jack were here he’d have a comment to make. But Jack’s not with them tonight; he won’t be around for a while.

Max’s lips are softer than anything she’s ever felt. If she thinks on it too hard she’ll wonder what a mouth like hers could ever be doing on a mouth like this; one that was made for kissing and smiling and other sweet things. And not so sweet things too; Anne’s no blinded fool, no matter what Jack thinks. Now more than ever, she sees. 

She sees, but she stays. Maybe she likes that Max trades in secrets and whispers. Maybe it’s nice to see a woman who is strong in a different way, who looks after herself and her own. Maybe under the wariness there’s a sort of pride, to see that Max has come this far and is taking control of all the little strings around her. Anne’s woman enough to admit it’s what she deserves. 

The kiss ends and another one begins, Max bringing her closer by the neck of her shirt and arching up against her, hungry-like. Anne wants to take all that she’s given, but she makes sure to do so gently; half out of spite, because maybe Max expects different. Slowly, she kisses the side of a creamy brown jaw, and down the slope to her neck and the rounded tops of her breasts. Anne has stared at this spot on Max’s sternum for hours, wondering what it would be like to touch it, taste it, put her hands there. She’d stared at Max and put off her longing as something else, so that it didn’t cut like a blade. But Max had seen through it, like Anne was nothing but fucking glass. 

It’s part of what makes her think this is right. 

Beneath her, Max shivers.

“Use your teeth,” she says, undoing the first few laces of her dress, wiggling until her tits are bursting out of it.

“What for,” Anne says, kissing her way down to the bared flesh. She’s got nice nipples. Anne likes the way they point up, dark brown at the centre, lighter as they move away from the tip, and then dark again around the edges, leading away into the roundness of her breasts. She kisses the darker parts. The noise Max makes when she does that is nice too.

“Just do it for me, hmm?” 

She purrs it like a suggestion, but before Anne can put it to thought, she’s following it like an order, sinking her teeth gently into lush skin. She should be fucking appalled at herself, but the better part of her mind is fixated on the way Max moans. It’s a low sound, guttural and distant like the roaring of the sea. Anne is fascinated. She bites her again, on the very tip of her nipple, and when she hears that sound again the blood rushes to her head.

“Yes,” Max says breathlessly. “That is good.”

Her clothes come off bit by bit. The first few times, Anne hadn’t really looked at her; she’d been concentrating on how it felt, how the reality weighed up to the grey imaginings she’d had locked away. There had been guilt too, the first time, the second time, even the third. Anne had never known what to do with an emotion that she couldn’t erase by killing something or fucking something, and the guilt had been a slippery, grating thing that seared every time she looked at Jack.

She’d grabbed that problem by the balls; fucking them both seemed the obvious solution. Now, once again, there are only two bodies in the bed and Anne wants for nothing. Now that she’s made the guilt go away, stamped down the residual anger, she can’t seem to summon them back.

She looks at Max’s body, how it curls and dips and curves, how some parts are darker than others, some parts rounder. Warmth pools in her belly at the sight, like rum going down. Small hands take hers, encouraging her to touch, too. Anne finds herself with both thumbs pressing into the dip of Max’s hips, just to the right and left of her navel where her stomach begins to slope towards her cunt.

“Press there,” Max says, and she does. “Little circles,” she breathes, and Anne moves her thumbs in spirals, moving closer inwards to her neat thatch of curls. Anne’s never had someone massage her like this before, but Max’s body reacts like it’s the sweetest thing in the world, her hips rolling like waves, her tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip. Her thighs come over in gooseflesh, even though it’s a warmer night than usual in Nassau.

“Yes, like that, chérie.”

Anne’s already close and Max tugs her closer, until she’s hovering over her with their lips almost brushing. Everything seems bigger and clearer and sharper, her mind slowly going numb like it does during a fight, shutting down so that she can take notice of everything that is vital: Max’s nipples dragging across the material of her shirt, the smell of cane on her tongue, the way the moonshine and lamplight move in her brown, brown eyes like they are the things light loves best. And fucking hell, Anne can hardly believe she just had such a thought. Max beckons her down before she can dwell on it, pulling her into a kiss that feels like a dream. Anne falls headfirst, like the seaman after the siren.

“What you want me to do next?” she rasps when they pull away. Her thumbs are still drawing deep circles near Max’s hipbones.

“Kiss me here.”

Max’s finger points to the space between her breasts. Anne dips down to deliver the boon, her top lip touching Max’s nail, her bottom lip grazing skin. The next spot Max points to is just an inch lower, and Anne skips ahead of her, kissing down the middle of her chest, past her ribcage to her navel, and lower still. She feels the subtle tremor in Max’s hips.

“Per’aps I did not need to show you everything,” she gasps, her breath catching on the ‘h’.

“Told you.” The next kiss, Anne rests gently on the top of her cunt, just before her little triangle of dark hair, and Max sighs deeply and curls her toes. She kisses the same spot one more time, feeling her own breathing start to speed up.

She’s never had her face this close to a cunt before; they still haven’t done it this way around, she and Max. Smells nice, like musk and salt and sweet and sweat. Anne makes herself comfortable on her stomach. Hands grasping Max’s thighs, she spreads her legs, watches her open up. Using a finger, she traces a line from her bellybutton down, through her curls, over the good spot, firm and slick, down and gently into her. Just a little, but Max moans again, thighs shivering. Her fingers twist and clench at her sides, like she’s got to force herself not to act.

“Don’t tease me, mon ange,” she says. She gathers her hair into her hands, twists it at the top of her head, and then levers herself onto her elbows. The way her chest heaves, the prickly goose-flesh on her arms, the sweat gathering on her stomach; all these things about her are fearsomely pretty.

“Wha’ should I do instead, then?” Anne returns. She sucks a spot on Max’s thigh, enjoying the softness of her skin, the softness of her sigh. She catches Max’s eyes with her own. This is the part she likes best. The breath before the plunge.

“Do you remember how I did it for you?” Max asks. She’s playing with her own nipples, but she continues looking at Anne hotly. Anne nods, feeling warm between the legs at the memory.

“And did you like it?” Max prompts.

“The fuck kind of question issat, Max?”

Her words don’t come out half as belligerent as she’d imagined them. Anne feels herself colouring under Max’s pleased stare. She doesn’t call Max by her name often. Ever, really. Most times it’s a grunt, or ‘you’, or ‘that one’. ‘The whore’ sometimes, mostly to Jack, because it seems to make him feel better, and it’s not like Max cares.

Hearing her name, though. That seems like to make her glow.

“A very simple one,” she answers in a purr. Her knees spread wider. “Did you like it?”

Anne swallows. “Yeah.”

“Then do it for me like that. Exactly like that.”

There’s no real order in her voice, nothing like a captain’s bark or a first mate’s ringing tones; just a gentle pressure, a little suggestion. And somehow, it’s easy. Easy to graze her lips over Max’s thighs, her belly, her hips, moving at the slowest pace until she’s just brushing her cunt and Max is murmuring words she doesn’t understand. Easy to remember the way Max had gotten on her knees, gripped her thighs, given her a look like sin. Easy to spread her open with her index and middle fingers, and kiss her long and deep.

On either side of her head, Max’s thighs tremble. Spurred on, Anne licks her, flicking her tongue up and down, spreading the sweet, musky taste of her all over her tongue. She tastes like a dream, like heavy arousal and warm nights, and it’s clear to see why Max had seemed to enjoy doing this. Every little suck makes Max jerk, every gentle hint of teeth sends her shivering and grinding her hips down for more. Anne mouths her earnestly, feeling faintly as Max grips her hair on both sides, anchoring her face between her legs. She growls, half with approval and half with desire.

“Your cunt tastes good,” she breaks away briefly to rasp, giving Max a slew of firm, brief kisses between the legs. Her lover shudders, turning her head from side to side. Anne gives her a broad lick with the flat of her tongue. “So good. Could lay here all day licking you.”

“Oh!” Max gives a gasp as Anne sucks at her nub. She rolls her hips, like she wants to ride Anne’s tongue. ”Oh, oh, oh... you do it so well chérie. You _would_ stay here all day, wouldn’t you? I-if I asked you to? You’d do just as I pleased?”

Anne’s heart skips. Men have died for saying less.

“Yeah.”

Max is always beautiful when she comes. Anne purses her lips and blows at the centre of her wetness, laps at her a few more times, and sees that she is close. Shaking her hair out of her eyes, she raises herself onto her knees, crowds up to the apex of Max’s thighs, and slides three fingers into her, all at once. Max doesn’t moan so much as the sound escapes her throat, and she throws her hands to the side to grip the bedsheets. She looks at Anne and Anne stares back at her, helpless in the face of how fucking lovely she is, hair tousled, body sweaty and trembling and writhing her way towards her peak. The sight makes her wetter than ever, makes the pit of her stomach vibrate with little shocks all over.

With one hand, she spreads Max’s legs wide, and then uses her thumb to rub her. With her other hand, she fucks her hard.

“Yes... just like that, my sweet,” Max cries, panting and moving with equal vigour, fucking herself on Anne’s fingers. Sometimes she clenches down, and she feels so good and tight Anne want to kiss her cunt again. “Fuck me like that.”

Anne shudders to her roots, and does as she’s told. Max comes with a long, low moan, back curving off the bed in an arc like a wave.

When it’s done, Anne curls up next to her, waits for her to cool down, start breathing right again. She’s still wearing most of her clothes, and her smalls are damp to the touch by now, but she can’t spare a thought for herself when she could be watching Max like this, coming down from her high. Not for the first time, Anne calls herself a fool, and not for the first time, she ignores the voice, and all the murmurings that go along with it. There’s another sound that calls to her when Max is near, and Anne doesn’t have it in her bones not to listen.

Max stretches, lazy-like, and rolls over to face her. Her nipples are still hard, and they brush against Anne’s chest when she presses close. Her eyes… clever, careful, tender. Those are some of the words Anne might use.

“That was good,” she says, kissing Anne’s cheeks and then her lips. “You are always so good.”

Anne returns the kisses, feeling a small hand slipping into her trousers.

“Still think you gotta show me what to do?” she asks. She’s not sure what she expects the answer to be, or even what she wants it to be. It’s obvious what Max is about to do, but she allows it; Max straddles her, quick as a cat, and pins her arms down, laughing in the same soft, sweet way.

“I think there are maybe a few things I can teach you,” she confesses.

Anne eyes her through the fall of her hair, biting her bottom lip as Max’s fingers dip into her. She’s never going to say no.


End file.
